We're Trying
by fortunecookiegun
Summary: With two years of marriage under their belt, Jackson and April find themselves wanting more. The journey to family life is full of fun, sex, and a lot of setbacks. Light, short multi-chapter. AU of their married life without ALL THE PAIN
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Avery. When was the last time you delivered a baby?"

I'm a plastic surgeon. I don't do babies. Yet I'm standing across Arizona Robbins from the opposite side of her operating table. I'm scrubbing in on a scheduled c-section – the reason being that her patient wouldn't settle for anyone but a plastic surgeon to tidy up her incision. My wife is upstairs in the gallery watching us. It's been a slow day at the pit and April decided to drop by. To watch me do stitches. That's how bored she is. Or maybe that's just love.

Meanwhile, Arizona's prompting me with bright blue diamond eyes. There's a fuck ton of optimism in her sparkly voice, I could swear I taste candy. Her question is pleasant, casual even, but I find myself fumbling.

"Uhm," I mutter. "Not in forever… actually."

"What? You're kidding me," she says, throwing the words up in the air. When she starts to think about it, her eyes are dancing on the ceiling while she feels her way around the patient's abdomen. She can do it all by touch and it's really impressive. "So you're saying… in your _entire_ medical career… you've _never_ delivered a baby?"

"I chose my specialty early, okay?" I say, trying to ease her down. I smirk a little behind my mask at the thought. "Mark had me at hello."

"_Ugh_. You two were disgustingly cute," she scoffs, but then the expression in her eyes changes. A little less sparkle. "God, I miss him."

"Me, too," I sigh.

When a moment of silence passes, the delight is back with a vengeance. "Well, you should totally take this one then."

"Woah woah woah. _What_?" I contest, like she's trying to push me off a cliff. "No. You're _right there_." I have to physically gesture that she's _right there_. Right there in front of me – the overqualified one who can handle this. Who _should_ handle this.

"So? I've delivered thousands of these," she says, her voice all skippy. Then her eyes center to me. "Your turn."

If I hadn't known any better I'd think she was trying to teach me how to jump rope but she's not. _This is someone's child_. So that's what I say. "This is someone's child."

"Yeah I know. Isn't it miraculous?" she smiles, voice as calm and happy as ever.

"Uhhh, it won't be if I mess it up," I insist.

"Would you stop freaking out like a prissy little intern?" she teases, then looks up to the gallery for support. "Kepner, tell him he's being a wussy."

"What the fuck is a wussy?" I ask, still thrown by the fact that the intercom was on the whole time. It's always great to have your spouse laughing at you from a glass box.

"The royal crossbreed between a wuss and a pussy," Arizona explains easily.

"I'm… not… " I say and see her eyes roll. I feel the unimpressed stares of all the women in this room – half-smiling and curious to see whether or not I'll do it. Even Bohkee the scrub nurse is looking at me expectantly and I realize that I'm starting to sweat.

"Then do it," Arizona says, before looking to the woman on the table. "_She's_ done all the hard work. You're just here for the harvest."

"You'll do great, Honey!" I hear April cheer, and my heart stands up a bit. My mind is skidding along as these women downplay how terrifying this actually is. At least to me. I see my fair share of gnarly shit on a daily, especially being married to a trauma surgeon. But this is otherworldly – scary on an advanced level. I can't do this. And I don't need to. I won't. It would be a kindness. I look up at her again and she's giving me the most endearing look of encouragement.

I guess I'm doing this. I will because she somehow knows that I can. She's right a lot of the time and I trust her with my life. In the two years we've been married, I figured that much out.

So I nod along.

"Now. I know you're precious little plastic surgeon hands would do a _gorgeous_ C-section," Arizona compliments me. "You know the depth, right?"

"Yeah," I say, still in a haze of disbelief. My first delivery. And it's a c-section, no less.

"Awesome. I'll walk you through it. Don't worry." Her tone is reassuring. This is probably the voice she uses to talk to scared little children – and it's working wonders on me. "I'll be right here."

"Okay," I say, getting into it with a bit more confidence. I do the incision flawlessly but that was the easy part. She guides me along the rest of the process and I catch on like a toddler learning how to count. "Okay, I got it."

Moments pass, and somehow, some way, there's a crying little baby in my arms and it's covered in blood and goo. I'm the first person to ever hold her, and that's something I don't feel I'm enough for. But I'm honored. She's grabbing onto my surgical gown with her tiny hands. I can't explain what I'm feeling because I think my heart is about to explode.

I do the thing that comes naturally. I slowly look up to the gallery to find April. She's already looking at me with an expression of pure wonder. She's as floored as I am and I'm sure she wasn't expecting to feel this way, too. I'd stick my tongue out at her if I wasn't having an emotional breakdown myself. Her eyebrows are raised subtly in that way where the right one is slightly higher than the left. Her pretty lashes are framing her beautifully open eyes and her mouth is parted with the tiniest smile tugging at one corner. She's so beautiful. The wonder turns into warmth as my eyes start to shine at her with emotion.

I have to will myself to see this through. I depart from our silent exchange to hand the baby over, gown and glove anew, and start working on what I came here for. Arizona looks pleased with me, and equally pleased at herself for being able to convince me to do her job for her. I steal one more glance at my wife and there's a slight bounce to her shoulders as she giggles and smiles wholeheartedly. She's propping one arm up with the other and her fingers are resting on her left dimple. I see her wedding ring shine alongside her smiling face; it's a look that suits her so well. I'm the luckiest man alive – knowing that I get to be hers.

I'm out in less than an hour. Prior to that, April had been called to the pit. I don't see her for another two, until I finally find her making coffee in the attendings lounge.

"Coffee?" she asks happily when she sees me.

"Sure," I say, holding her shoulders and kissing her cheek from behind.

She pours me a cup and slides it over to me. "Boop."

"Thank you, Sweetheart," I whisper as I take my mug and walk her to the couch.

"Mhm," she hums.

We sit down together and I hook an arm over her shoulders to keep her close while we both hug our cups. She's looking at me thoughtfully like she's thinking about a million things. I don't know if she's aware that she looks like she's undressing me with her eyes. So I let her know.

"You're kinda giving me bed eyes," I say.

"Yeah," she says simply like it's the most trivial thing in the world.

"What did I do..." _'...To deserve you'_ was what I was going to say, but I stop myself to ruffle her feathers and act suspicious. "...Or what did _you_ do? Did you break something of mine?"

"No," she laughs, clearly amused. "I just love you."

"I love you, too," I say. Ugh. She got me there.

"And…" she trails, before putting her mug down on the short coffee table in front of us.

"And?" I repeat, sipping mine.

"I loved seeing you today. You did so well," she says, one hand on my chest.

"To be honest, it felt like I was the baby," I say, my cup soon joining hers. "It was absolutely terrifying. And amazing. I swear I almost shat my pants. Robbins really pulled a quick one–"

"Make a baby with me," she says softly and in all seriousness. I'm amazed by how calm she is because my heart is now beating so fast, it's almost vibrating.

"What?" I smile.

"Sorry, that sorta just came out –"

"No no. Go on," I urge. I know there's something more she wants to say. She scoots in to face me and my hand is now resting at the small of her back.

"I loved seeing you hold that little life in your hands. And I see it, too, ya know? You holding ours. One we'd make together…"

My thoughts race to our imminent future. A future where there's a miniature version of me and her combined running around our home. Maybe even two or three. We've gotten better at a lot of things, and I feel that we've grown so much together. I knew her like nobody's business back when we were friends but being married is different. There are a bunch of fights that you have with your spouse and not with your best friend. We had both. And we've come out stronger because of it. This conversion is so overdue that it surprises me it took us this long.

"I don't wanna force this on you if you don't think you're ready or if it's not what you want right now," she says. She's leaning her head on her hand with her elbow resting on the edge of the couch. It's near to where my head is reclined comfortably. My attention is fully on her and how she's talking about taking our next step. "I just wanted to open up the conversation is all. Because I think I am. I think I'm ready for it." She ends with a tentative look my way and I know she's wondering what I'm thinking.

"There's nothing more I'd want…" I finally say, taking her hand in mine and kissing it softly. "Than to start a family with my best friend."

"Really?" she asks me. She's reeling on the inside but she's playing it cool. She should know by now that I know better.

"Really," I say softly, before kissing her once and pulling her into the most meaningful hug I can give.

"Two years in and we're finally doing it," she says over my shoulder.

"We're finally doing it," I say.

Before I can kiss her properly, she pulls back for a second to take a jab at me. "It took _Robbins_ to get you to –"

I drop my forehead on her shoulder. "To stop being a wussy? Yeah."

"No." She strokes the back of my head and laughs. "I was gonna say that she made you look so good that… I upfront decided right then and there that I want your baby in me."

My head leaves her collarbone the second she says it. I had no idea that the thought could turn me on so much. Suddenly, the idea isn't terrifying. It's tempting.

"I know what you're doing," I say, because I do.

"Do you?" she says. Her eyes are half closed and lusty and she's looking at my lips and every section of my face. It couldn't be more obvious.

"Mhhhmm," I growl quietly, then look around the room. "... Here?"

"Why _not_ here?" she purrs.

I love it when she's naughty. But I also know how mortified she'd be if one of our friends – or God forbid, a whole group of them – comes storming in to find us having unprotected penetrative sex on the lounge room couch.

I snag a passionate four-five second kiss from her before I stand up to lock the door. As I reach for the knob, it turns on its own and our friends start piling in exactly the way I had hoped they wouldn't.

I wanna strangle them.

April and I exchange looks and we know. It's not happening. At least not right now.

I try to act normal. But the fact that I'm awkwardly standing by the open doorway makes that a difficult task. With the momentum of my stride, they were all expecting me to be on my way out. Grey, Shepherd, Karev, and Yang are all staring me down. What do I do? _What do I do?_

"Jackson," I hear April call out. I turn to face her, wondering what she's up to. Everyone seems to share my curiosity because they do the same thing. With all our eyes on her, I can see it in her face. She's thinking on her feet. She's still a little flustered over what we were about to do, but it takes her zero think time to get it together. She pats on her scrub pockets a couple of times and fishes out her set of keys to the house – then throws them my way just in time to make it all look natural. I catch them with one hand and she pretends to scold me with a half-ass pointed finger. "D-Don't forget yours next time."

"Thank you, baby," I play out as well, waving the keys around with a fake smile straining my features. We're both really bad actors and it probably shows. But she just bailed me out of that awful situation and I make a mental note to give trauma think speed a little more credit. "I won't!" I call out, halfway out the door.

When I'm out and the door is closed behind me, I slowly look back with knotted brows. I'm sure that confusion is written all over my face. What the fuck just happened?

I'm still hovering by the lounge when I pull my phone out to shoot her a text.

**Thanks for that. I'll find you later. Love you.**

How on earth did deciding to try for a baby end up with me out the door with nowhere to go and her on the couch with two cups of coffee? I get a reply right away. She's still just a couple of feet away from me and we're texting. This is ridiculous.

**You better. You have my keys.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Your keys, my darling," I say, handing April her set as soon as I see her standing by the counter of the cafeteria. I can see that she just ordered a frosted cupcake, so I bend down to snag a bite.

"Perfect," she says, kissing me on the cheek, completely unbothered by the huge void I left on her afternoon snack. "My shift ends early so I need these to get home. You still have that surgery 'til 7?"

"Barring any complications," I disclaim, and she finally notices that my bite had reduced her cupcake to just a tiny piece, so she feeds me what's left.

"Jackson, it's liposuction," she laughs, clapping the crumbs out of her hands.

"You don't know what could go wrong," I quip, with one side of my mouth still stuffed. As I say it, I give her some comedic side eye while trying to sound serious. Obviously, I'm not. I hate doing liposuction. It bores me to death.

She sighs and I immediately wonder what's gotten her all pouty. "I'll be missing you at home," she says, wiping off some frosting that I didn't know was on the corner of my mouth. "While you handle another woman's butt."

I swallow the cupcake. Hard. I _hate_ liposuction.

"Yours is the only one I like sticking my…"

"SHHUUUUT up it if you know what's good for you," she says with wide eyes and gritted teeth, looking around to make sure no one's listening in. I know that she's trying to reprimand me but the smile that she's struggling to fight off is giving her away.

I'm laughing at her for a moment until I slowly start to feel nervous. What we've just decided to do earlier today hits me out of nowhere. "Hey… Do you still wanna…" I ask her. My face is hot and the smile I'm giving her is probably dorky as hell. "Try tonight?"

"Yeah…" she says softly, eyes brimming with excitement. "I'll see you tonight."

She grounds me. And now I see just how little there is to be nervous about. This is April I'm talking to. Her excitement is contagious and I allow myself to share the feeling. "We could be doing it right now if I didn't have this thing," I say, my hand resting on her arm. "I can't reschedule now."

"Don't worry about it. Do your job. Then come home to me."

"I love you so much," I mutter.

"I love you, baby."

We give each other a small peck on the lips and part ways. Things that need to happen for the rest of the day happen. I do the butt-sucking procedure. The slurping sounds from the machine is absolutely disgusting but somehow almost lulls me to sleep. When I'm off, I take the quickest shower I can in the lounge bathroom just to wash off the horrid feeling. My only real comfort tonight is seeking home.

I'm not too sure how I made it to our place in one piece. By the time I get there, I'm still a little groggy. I open the door and smile to myself when I see April's set of keys on the hook. They're neatly hung onto the fixture by a small white leather strap with a chrome-plated cross embellished on its surface. I play with it with the tips of my fingers for a bit and soak up who she is through these little things. Taking one long relaxing blink, I hang mine on the same hook with hers – right where it belongs.

"Hello?" I call out. "Wife?"

"I have a name, dummy," I hear her say through the haze of the distance between us. There's some music playing from our sound system. It's getting louder as I walk further inside. I like the beat a lot.

"Sugarplum?" I call back, teasing her while I kick off my shoes. "Sweetpotato? Mrs. Dummy?"

"Come here and eat something. You must be starving," she says, and I emerge from the hallway to follow the sound of her voice. It sounds like it's coming from the kitchen, and I know I'm right when I see her bent over while she's retrieving a pot roast from the oven.

"Hungry?" she asks me, her soft auburn hair whipping about as she stands and turns her head my way. The top section of her hair is pulled back and pinned away from her face with the rest of it flowing in pretty waves. I have the hugest crush on my wife.

"God, yes," I say. She puts the food down on the kitchen counter and makes her way around the island. I meet her by taking her hand and pulling her into me. Unplanned by either of us, we end up dancing casually by the couch instead. "Did you really just wait up for me?"

"Mhm," she says, kissing my cheek while I hold her and sway us softly. Suddenly, I'm not tired or hungry anymore. Just happy.

"I burned right through that cupcake you gave me while trying not to fall asleep in surgery," I say, slowly twirling her around.

"That cupcake you _stole_," she laughs and nudges me by the chest to a sitting position on the backrest of our sofa.

I give her a cheeky smirk then make a blank, traumatized expression for her entertainment. "So. Much. Butt fat," I testify.

"Sounds like it… sucked," I hear her say, and I snap out of it and give it the stare down and the three-second silence it deserves. She's such a dork.

In response to the gut-wrenching dad joke, I take a throw pillow in both hands and smother myself with it – then wail right into the material before lifting it off my face nonchalantly. "I guess these things _are_ pretty useful," I remark, setting it aside. April is straight up laughing at me. She has the most amazing laugh. Her eyes are closed and carefree and her mouth is in an open smile while she lets herself set her soul loose.

When she settles down, her face is a bit pink at the nose and cheeks. Her nostrils stretch downward a bit as she tries to breathe in some composure, and it's the cutest thing because it looks like she just inhaled some pollen.

"You're so perfect. I'd marry you again," I can't help but say, affirming to myself that standing up at her wedding to Matthew and running off with her to Lake Tahoe was the best decision of my life.

"Jackson, to me, it's not how many times I want you to marry me," she says, walking closer to me. I'm about to tell her to just take the compliment when she says, "It's how many lives I'd wanna live being married to you."

That does it. Something's pricking at the rear end of my eyes and I try to blink it away. And fail. I fail pretty hard.

"Are… are you cryi–"

"No," I sniff.

"Really? 'Cause I swear I just saw a little tear there, buddy."

"I'm a grown ass man. I don't… cry little tears–"

"Hmnkay," she says, throwing me an ego bone.

I look at her like she's an impossible catch. She's the only person who gets me like this. "I am so in love with you," I profess. I'm sure she's heard me say this countless times before – this or some other form of I love you, be it verbally or otherwise. And she always says it back. Verbally or otherwise. This time, it's otherwise. My body melts when she wraps her dainty hands around my neck and plants the kind of kiss that weakens and strengthens me at the same time. We go at it for a while, kissing and breathing each other in, until I feel her tongue slip into my mouth. That lets me know right away where she's at. "Now?" I ask.

"Yeah, screw dinner," she breathes.

"But you worked so hard–"

"Shush. You're ruining it," she says and I realize that I couldn't agree more. Suddenly, I'm not hungry. At least not for food. All of my appetite has shifted to wanting her. And just being with her.

She moves even closer to me, if that's even possible. With me still sitting on the ledge of the couch, her standing height puts us face to face. Then she goes for my neck with a kiss and a gentle lick and it's game over. "I love your tongue on me," I tell her.

"Is that so?" she says, but then she pulls away. It takes me too long to figure out what she's up to. It only clicks when she kisses her way down to the already apparent bulge peeking through my pants.

Two years of marriage has given her plenty of time to make up for staying celibate for so long. Now, she's an absolute pro.

"Fuck," I breathe, when she kisses me over my zipper. She slowly unbuttons my pants and pulls them down until my thighs. I love it when she's assertive. When she finally unleashes me, I'm already dripping clear stringy fluid, which she sensually licks off of me with a pressure that's driving me crazy. I slowly lift my hips as she swirls her tongue around the most sensitive part of my body. I can't get my head on straight and the stuff I'm saying are all glued together. "Fuck. Jesus," I say roughly, my breathing heavy. I realize what I've done when she stops for a second and shoots me scolding eyes that could kill me right there. I can't say it doesn't turn me on even more because her mouth is still on my dick. But I have to apologize. I just have to. "...Sorry."

She gets back at me the only way she knows how. I just accidentally cursed her buddy Jesus – ironically while she's doing not the holiest thing to me. She starts sucking me off deeper and I'm sure I'm about to lose it.

"April, you gotta stop," I pant, completely at her mercy.

"And why is that?"

"Because… because…" I trail, all my blood in my crotch. But I manage to get it through. "This stuff has to go somewhere else for this to work."

The look on her face turns solemn – like she's been pulled back from another dimension. Innocence starts to soften her face, despite the fact that she's still got her hand wrapped around me. Funny.

"Besides… there's something I need to do first," I say.

"Yeah?" she asks me, raising an eyebrow. "What's tha–" I don't let her finish, and I hear her squeal with what I do. With my member still hard and sticking out, I lift her up and roll both of us onto the couch. We land with a poof and it gets both of us laughing.

I get rid of my pants. I don't need them anymore. And while she's stripping off her shirt, I get rid of her pants, too. She doesn't need them either. I make sure to give her a good hard kissing before I do anything else. Sustaining eye contact, I kiss her downward like what she did to me and finally find her hot wet core, just there for the taking. My mouth is on her now, and unlike me, making her cum won't waste a thing.

"Jackson…" she moans. She smells of pure ecstasy.

"Mmmm, say my name again, baby," I say, suddenly unsure of the earlier notion of striving to save my load. What was I thinking? Hearing her like this is enough to make me to spill my stuff on the couch.

"Jackson," she says again, and it propels me further. Two of my fingers are inside her now as I quickly flick my tongue all over her clit. "Oh! Ffffuck!"

"You like me eating your cupcake baby?" I ask. I've been waiting to use this joke on her _all freaking day._

Instead of being annoyed and shoving me away like I think she would, she goes with it. "Yes baby. Eat my cupcake," she moans. She fucking goes with it and I have to make her cum quick before I explode down there myself.

I get it done and quickly align our bodies the way they're supposed to go. Her moans are music to my ears, and I'm happy that I was able to please her like that. I never gets old. On the other hand, I have to slip myself inside her while she's still having her orgasm or else her whimpers will get me off – which is what we're trying to avoid for now.

Best. Decision. Ever.

"Hoooooly shit," I moan, feeling her inner heat strongly pulsate around me when I enter her body. I bet I don't even have to move for me to get there, but I decide to anyway. She deserves more than one orgasm tonight.

"You know… this is the first time we… did it without a…" she says, getting cut-off once and a while to the rhythm of my thrusts.

"I know," I say, completely lost in the feeling of finally being able to feel every detail of what she's like in there without a condom in the way. I take off my shirt in one fluid motion and now we're both wearing nothing but each other. "Babe, you feel… fucking incredible."

"Mmn," she moans. "Harder, baby." I do as she says, and I'm sure it feels amazing for her, too. "Right there," she pleads. "Right there."

"Is this okay?" I say. I'm a cocky little cockhead. Of course I know she's feeling good. I've gotten good at knowing when she's high on pleasure. But I need her to tell me.

"Mmmm yeah just like that. That feels so fucking good," she swears. "Jackson... I won't last long."

"That makes two of us," I say. My words are probably muffled because my mouth is busy playing with one of her nipples.

"You close baby?" she asks, her chest hot and flustered from all the sex flush I'm giving her.

"Yeah, I am," I whisper, laying my lips right next to her ear so I can tingle her senses with lots of dirty talk. She loves dirty talk. "I've been so close to bursting the second I stuck myself inside your gorgeous little pussy, baby. I want you cum so hard that you can't walk."

She clenches herself around me in response to what I've said. We both know that I'm better at dirty talk. But she's better at saying things that catch me off guard. Like right now. "You wanna come inside me for the first time, baby?" she asks me.

I think she was _trying_ to talk dirty, but it just ended up making me feel things. A lot of things. About her. About what we're trying to do. Yeah, she's much better at that. Or maybe I'm just sensitive as fuck.

"Yeah," I smile and she opens her eyes when I say her name in a sacred whisper. "April…" She looks straight into me, both her body and soul just utterly warm and open. "I love you," I say, nudging my nose onto hers.

"I love you forever," she says softly, eyes fluttering shut with the unbridled feeling of content. I start pumping faster again and she holds me close by my shoulder blades.

In a rare instance, we come at the same time – although statistically, it wouldn't be _that_ rare given the amount of sex we have as a couple. Tonight, we do much the usual things when we reach our peaks together. We freeze and tighten, then moan and spasm, then kiss each other senseless as we come down from the sex summit with our fingers intertwined. But this time was different for sure – special in its own way, and we both know why.

Our breathing finally slows down and I pull out gently to lie down beside her and wrap her in my arms. She's Little Spoon tonight. This is my favorite thing to do, loving my wife. My Little Spoon wife who's now giggling in my embrance.

"What's so funny, huh?" I say, nibbling on her earlobe.

"Okay, _now_ I'm starving," she laughs, and as she starts to shift away, I kid around by clumsily putting my weight on her. "Wait, you're squishing me!" she says, still giggly and trying to reach her arm out for the light. For freedom. She turns her head underneath me toward the kitchen where she laid our food. "It's all cold now."

"I sorta expected as much," I say, untrapping her. "Here. I'll heat it up."

I can feel her eyes on the back of my body as I walk away to reheat our dinner. Normally, I wouldn't walk around our home naked with the kind of place we have, let alone have sex on the couch. Our apartment is lined with big windows overlooking the city, potentially granting access to a bunch of peaky-eyed perverts. But we both love the skyview so much that we got ourselves a telescope after we got married. This time though, the blinds are down and I wonder if this was her plan all along.

"I have a question," I hear her say.

"Shoot," I say, looking at her before grabbing the plate on the counter. She's like a cute little fox peeping from behind the sofa. Unintentionally, she's propped up just low enough to hide her breasts and the rest of her body. I wish I could see more despite the state we held each other just moments ago.

She clears her throat, and I wonder what she wants to ask me that she doesn't already know. "Is this your first time having sex with someone…" she says, while she starts to blush. "W-without…"

"Without a condom?"

"Yeah," she says, looking a bit unsure as to whether she really wants to know. But I'm glad that won't be necessary.

"Yup," I say truthfully.

"Really," she says, her voice low with disbelief.

"I thought you'd like my answer," I tease with a smirk. I was a clean and careful boy who, in the past up to this point, always had a condom on him. It was my thing. On top of that, I'd always feel guilty whenever a girl would offer to go on the pill and drastically alter her body clock just so we can do it raw. Apart from just hearing about unprotected sex feeling a shit ton better than the clothed-with-a-condom kind, I didn't really know what to expect or how good it would really feel. Until now. I'm glad April gets to be my first in some way.

"I really do," she says, her dimples starting to show with a closed smile as I make my way back to her while waiting for the food. I see her hand gravitate to her belly and she rests her eyes curiously on the place that we're trying to fill with life. "So…"

"It takes about a week," I say, noticing where her attention had gone. "At the least."

She nods. Of course she knows that, too. We need to wait at least a week or even longer to take the test.

Her eyes drift to me with a vibrant glint to them. "What ever shall we do 'til then?" she asks. Her voice sounds like her bed voice only ten times sexier and eleven times naughtier. At that moment, the microwave dings and we both acknowledge the same enticing thought.

I give her a sly little smirk and tell her exactly what I know she wants to hear.

"We keep trying."


	3. Chapter 3

Last night was amazing. April and I ate dinner in our underthings and did the dishes without having or wanting to put our clothes back on. It's long been proven that we can make each other laugh better than anyone else on the planet. And that's how we found ourselves last night – half naked, giggling, and silently belly laughing until we cried and our stomachs hurt. After dinner, we ended up having sex two more times like a horny little pair of newlyweds. It felt good to know that despite our hectic work schedule, we still manage to make time to deeply connect with one another.

Now that the cold morning of the day after is creeping in, I'm shuffling where I am so I can reach out to cuddle her – only to discover that April's side of the bed is empty. I pointlessly pat the sheets once or twice like I still might find her as my vision acquaints itself to the dimly lit room brimming with gentle sunlight.

Her voice is further away though. "Shit!" I hear her hiss all the way from the room-side bathroom.

I'm a bit worried, though I doubt she slipped and hurt herself or anything like that. I'd hear a squeak or a shrill yelp if that were the case. This one was a long and crisp release of frustration – but beyond zit patrol. That '_Shit!_' wasn't suited for something so mild.

Now I'm worried again.

"April? ...Honey?" I call out, and I feel my insides drop to the floor when I hear nothing in response. With no idea how I got there so quickly, I find myself already standing by the bathroom door – ready to break it down if need be. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be right out," she says distractedly. It's a bit clipped and from that I know that something is wrong.

I hear the toilet flush, and the door pop open, and the next thing I know, she's walking out of the bathroom with a fire to her stride. She's wearing the same clothes she slept in – a plain white shirt and some comfy looking shorts. Until now, I still don't get how she can pull off such a modest look so well.

"You're pissed," I observe. I wonder what could have possibly happened between last night and now that could make her so upset. It's likely not something I did, but I'll play it safe anyway. "Uhm. I'm sorry?"

"No, you're fine," she says softly.

"So then…" I gently prompt her.

"I got my period."

My eyebrows rise up high. "Just now?"

"Yeah," she says, stationing a palm to her forehead.

On a regular day, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. But I figure she's upset because it means, with utter certainty, that last night didn't work out as planned.

"So we had sex right before you got it," I try to brush off like it's no big deal. "Maybe you just… lost track?" _Pff. Lost track_, I mentally scoff to myself. Fat chance. April would never. In any case, I'm just hoping to console her as best I can. "It's expected that it won't work. And it's okay."

"No, Jackson…" she says, shaking her head. "This one came early. I checked. We were well within my window..." Her face is argumentative until it's softened with defeat. "At least, we were supposed to be."

"But… you're a clock. You're never late," I reason, hoping to goodness that nothing's wrong with her medically.

"I get it early sometimes. I'm early this month," she says until the frustration seeps through. "_Right_ when we're trying to…"

I do my best to hide a sigh of relief. I'm glad it's not something too terrible. But I know she feels like shit, and her period hormones will mix up a storm meant just for me if I don't tread lightly. "Hey," I say, stepping closer and putting a warm hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. We'll catch the next one."

"Yeah…" she says, looking down to the floor. "Yeah… it's just a little frustrating…"

"I know," I empathize.

"And it would've been perfect," she says, looking at me dearly with sad eyes. I'm already melting right in front of her, and she doesn't even know. "Last night… was perfect…" I can't help but smile at the thought of last night – all the things we did to each other, all the things we made each other feel. She seems to notice the smugness in my face, too – right past the fragile front of sadness that I'm trying to mask it with. "No, you can't do that."

"Do what?" I say innocently, still eyeing her. There's no point in hiding it now.

"I'm trying to feel bad about it, okay? I need to feel bad so I can feel better so can you just… let me do that?"

That makes… _zero_ sense to me.

"Okay," I nod obediently anyway, quick to tame the menstrual beast that lies within her. I've learned that it eases up with sweet talk. And a lot of compliance. So I sit at the edge of our bed while she's still standing and figuring out how to feel. Then I make a bold move and sneak my hands onto her waist, slowly inching them upward. "You know…"

"No. Don't be gross," she says, overlapping my hands with hers. "Three to five days, mister. Two weeks if we want it to work."

"Two weeks?!" I protest with wide eyes. Of course I know this. But a shot at making her laugh is always worth it, especially with how sad she'd been when I woke up.

"Yuhp." There's a slight chuckle to the way she says it. That's already more than enough for me.

I whine and lean my forehead on her tummy and wrap my arms around her instead, getting used to the motion I hope to be doing often when the time comes. And it _will_ come. "Fine," I muffle into her shirt.

She strokes her fingers along my closely shaven head in the way that I love, then gives it a kiss, and says, "Come on, we gotta get ready for work."

The bathroom bummer a while back meant that April didn't have much time to carefully plan out breakfast like she normally does. Which is completely fine with me because I'd eat whatever this woman would feed me with no fuss. At all. 'Til the day I die. Oddly enough, she doesn't seem to think that today is up to par just because of that.

I see her whipping up a 'makeshift' breakfast that looks absolutely pristine in my eyes. I'm drawn to the way her hands move, how precise her decisions are. She can think so far ahead. She can think on the fly, too. Years of experience in the trauma department and her personality in general has enabled her for just that.

She'd be such a great mom. I just know it.

I'm spacing out a bit while daydreaming about what's to come until her voice dials itself into my mind and I finally get to register what she's saying.

"...brought out the jams and just laid everything out for you to choose from," she rambles. "So if you see something you want–"

"I see everything I want," I say, calm and certain yet unable to control myself, and she sees that I'm not just looking at breakfast. I'm looking at her and all these quiet moments of our life together, along with all the potential that it holds.

Her face relaxes into an appreciative expression and my heart flutters. She's still holding up a piece of toast, still a bit dumbfounded. I'm not sure she knows quite what to do with it yet so I playfully tank the moment by aiming a bite at it like I did the cupcake from yesterday.

"Yeah, keep stealing my food while you still can," she says, snapping out of it, but nothing in her face says that she's angry with me. In fact, she looks rather upbeat now, optimistic even. "'Cause if this thing works, I'm gonna wanna rip your arms out when you do."

"_When_ it works," I correct her, chewing a bit before I take a swig of coffee and place a waffle she made on my plate. "And you're hormonal now."

"Fair point," she says, sipping from my cup.

"Whatcha got for the day?" I ask her.

A tiny smirk appears on her lips. There's a sparkle to her eyes. "ER. I never know what I get."

April just loves the thrill that trauma brings her. Meanwhile, I'm loving the thrill of having her this bubbly in stark contrast to earlier this morning.

"Boy or girl. Wanna bet?" I propose. Two weeks is too damn long.

"Uhm… Slow down."

"What? It's 50/50…" I say and her face changes slightly. Some of the sadness is back. I spoke too soon. The glint in her eyes is gone and replaced with silent worry. Shit. "Baby…"

"Jackson, what if there's something wrong with me?" she says. Out of nowhere.

"Nothing is wrong with you," I contest. Some spinning out is immanent. And I'll be there to catch her if it comes down to it. I always do. Always will.

"You don't know that," she persists.

"Well neither do you," I shrug, eyes wide. The idea of her potentially being unable to bear a child has been planted in her brain. The seed of worry has been planted. And I can't un-plant it, dammit. "For all we know, it could be me who's broken," is all I can offer.

Dumb. Of course that won't help.

"That doesn't make me feel better!"

"Or maybe no one's broken," I say. There we go. "We're just not there yet. Sweetheart…"

She takes a moment to recalibrate and closes her eyes to center herself. "...I'm being hormonal," she realizes.

"You know what I am excited for?" I ask, not bothering to stress that she's right.

"Swollen ankles?" she asks, eyes now open with one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Your pregnancy hormones kicking in and you wanting me all the time," I say smoothly.

"You're a total horn ball," she says, then looks to me soberly while gently shaking her head. "I can't believe I married you."

"Neither can I."

The ER isn't all that busy when I get paged in for a consult. Once I make a quick visual of my surroundings, I see April whizzing around with a stethoscope hung around her neck and a clipboard in hand, completely in her element.

My consult is for a little girl who hit her head pretty badly. She can't be older than seven and her long lashes are thick and soaking wet with tears. I walk up to her and her father and introduce myself, and she lends me her complete attention despite the fact that she must be scared and hurting right now.

A few moments pass and her dad excuses himself to head over to the nurses' station and handle some paperwork. I see her big bright eyes following him until they shift to me.

"My daddy says I'm very pretty," she says with a tiny voice.

"You are," I smile. I make a note to myself that if April and I have a girl, I'll be sure to tell her that every chance I get.

"I was clumsy."

"Were you now?" I say, my voice as gentle as can be.

"Yeah," she says, then blows out a puff of air that lags behind and bloats up her rosy cheeks. "Well it was nice while it lasted."

"What was?" I ask, totally amused with her. There's no way this kid is only six years old.

As I try to build up the conversation with the little one, I hear a new patient being pulled in next to our gurney. I pay it no mind for now. I really just want to help this kid first. My attention is hanging on her answer.

"Him calling me pretty," she says, like I'm supposed to know. I open my mouth to reason with her but she goes on and rebuts me with that little voice before I even get the chance. "I messed up my face. And when he checked on me, he said, '_Oooo, that's_ _not pretty._'" Her head is bobbing from side to side as she mimics her father's sentiment with the deepest voice she can make.

"No, sweetie... No," I say, trying not to laugh at both her impersonation of her dad and how she completely misread the situation. "For one… I am excellent at what I do. We'll fix this right up and make sure that it looks just the way it was before. No scars." I must be sounding like Arizona right now and I don't seem to care. "Second and most important of all, I'm sure all your daddy cares about is that you're going to be okay. And if anything, he'd be concerned you'll end up too pretty and start dating boys."

"Eeeeeheheeew," she says with her nose all scrunched up. The expression is studded with contagious giggles and I can't help but chuckle myself.

"_What_?" I defend. It's in that moment I hear a puff of air through someone's nose, signaling to me that this someone has been listening in and is laughing along. I look over to the spot I ignored a while ago and find that it's April, handling her own patient next to mine.

"Boys are gross," says the little girl, and April gives me a haughty look and mouths to me '_She's right_'.

"Not all boys are gross!" I argue, eyes wide and shifty.

"You're right. My daddy's not gross," she says, and sighs contently. "I got myself a good one. I really did."

I smile at this mature being, who, I'm convinced by now is just trapped in a child's body. Since when did kids these days get so smart? It makes me wonder if our kids will ever see us the way this little girl sees her dad – with such love and adoration.

I look at April, who's totally endeared by our conversation. I can see that she's listening in while she gently presses on a woman's abdomen and areas around her body. She takes her steth, and examines the woman's breathing, then hangs it back around her neck. "There doesn't seem to be a problem, Ma'am," says April, making some final notes on her chart. "We… are in the clear," she finishes, nimbly penning in the last few words of her report.

"Are you sure?" says the lady, rather doubtfully.

"Quite sure," says April, offering a strained smile with her lips closed. Her voice is still pleasant though, like the professional I know her to be.

"You did read my chart, right?" her patient insists. April holds a tight face and blinks quickly three times. By that, I know she's already a little bit annoyed. "'Cause it'll say that I'm two weeks pregnant and I took a fall this morning… I… I just wanna be sure that…"

"I imagine the concern. Really I do," April emphasizes, not even pouncing on the opportunity to set this woman straight with how sacredly she upholds the art form of chart reading. Heck, April pretty much designed the current charting system at this hospital. "Would you mind telling me how you fell?"

Good strategy, babe. A little misdirection to get her on your side. Like I said. Total pro. And it seemed to have worked, too. Because for some reason, the woman is now smiling. Much to mine and April's shared confusion.

"This morning, my husband and I just found out that we're pregnant," she gushes. April blinks again and her lips part ever so slightly in a reflexive expression of hurt. Unaware that she's been pushing a button, the woman just sighs and continues, saying, "Aaaand then he twirled me around and we both came crashing down onto the floor."

"Oh, he's not here with you now?" says April, looking around the ER.

"He barely got a scratch. Said it was way too minor and that there's nothing to worry about," the woman explains. My wife gives her a tiny nod in agreement, but I think her patient reads it as April listening intently to what she's saying instead of agreeing with her husband like I know she is. "Then he had to go to work. I called in sick just to come here and be sure."

"Well, I mean it's always good to be su–"

"You know, we just decided to start trying for a baby recently, and lo and behold, we got it on the first try," brags the woman.

"That's…"

"Getting pregnant is so easy!"

"Well," April stammers, face turning pink. "It… it's not _that_..."

"And it's amazing," the woman goes on, staring wistfully in the distance. April's eyes are on her and I see the left one begin to twitch. I can almost read her mind. She's absolutely manic in there and she should be. I'm watching intently as she's about to lose her sauce, but she gives it up and relaxes her face when the woman says, "We're really happy about it."

"Good for you," April offers sadly, and I'm guessing the woman is far too insensitive to pick up on the pain behind it because she just smiles back in silent thanks.

"So do you mind? You know, just, going through it again?"

"I can…" April starts, and with a calming breath, smiles cordially and says, "Fit you in for an appointment with Dr. Robbins. She's a double certified fetal and pediatric surgeon. On top of that, she's amazing at prenatal care. I'm sure you'll have much more peace of mind if you got the clear from our best."

"That sounds good," says her patient, seemingly more than satisfied with the prospect. "Thank you so much, doctor."

April gives her another broken smile as she pulls out her phone and sends off what I assume to be a text to Arizona.

It's been a few hours since I've last seen April today. After effortlessly suturing up the small head lac on that little girl's head, I was paged all over the place for consults and board meetings.

It's nearly lunch now, so I shoot April a text to see if she's free for a quick bite.

**Lunch?**

Two minutes in, I get a reply.

**I'm good, thank you. Please go ahead.**

I don't remember her having anything big scheduled today. Although I do know that the ER could reel in some pretty huge curveballs unannounced.

**Lots of stuff on your plate today?**, I text her.

**Uhh yeah**, she shoots back.

I'm still walking along one of the corridors while typing up a reply. That's when I hear sniffling coming from a nearby supply closet. I know that sniffling. That's my wife's sniffling. I'm halted where I am. My brows furrow on their own and I make a hard right to open the door to see April leaning up against one of the storage shelves. She flinches when she sees me, eyes pink and moist and her nose much the same.

"April…" I say, eyes strained with concern.

"Jackson," she says, haphazardly wiping her face to try and hide the tears away like I haven't already seen them. "Yeah I uhm. I'm sorry… about lunch."

"Were you just in here?"

"Yeah," she sniffs. "But we can still go if you want. You must be hungry."

"Screw lunch," I say, walking closer and shutting the door behind me. "What happened?"

"These are just the hormones," she says, looking up at the ceiling, her bottom eyelids flooding. When she looks at me, those tears fall down her delicate face. "My emotions are all over the place today."

"Is it because of your patient in the ER?" I ask, my voice soft. "She was bulldozing you in there."

"She didn't know…" April begins. "But yeah, it sucks." She takes a breather, then looks at me sheepishly. "… I never realized how much I wanted this."

"You can still want it," I say, moving closer to her. I cup her jaw and feel her head relax onto my hand. "I know I do. We just need some patience."

"Patience," she scoffs, though a tiny smirk is evident. "You are such a plastic surgeon. How are you so… okay about this?"

"I know you were excited to try," I tell her. "Because you…" l say, gently caressing her cheekbone with my knuckle. "Are such a trauma surgeon."

She takes my words into account, looking distantly as she begins nod. She's picking up on my way of reminding her that we're two very different people. She's a lock-and-load, get-it-done-and-now kind of person. She's relentless and preserving whenever she sets her mind on something and sometimes it scares the crap out of me. But she has to be. It's her job. And it's who she is. I'm more time persistent. I take it stages. I assess the steps and work through them methodically for as long as it takes. And so, looking at who we both are in contrast to one another, I understand her frustration. On top of that, she has the tendency to see things that don't go as planned as some sign from above. Her mind must be going a mile a minute trying to decode what it is.

"C'mere," I say, voices hushed and tender, and I pull her into a hug.

"Love you," she whispers into my clothes.

I take a breath and she takes one with me. "Can I kiss you?" I ask.

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she tilts her head up and gently pulls me into a sweet little kiss. Or least it's sweet and little for a short while until we come back for another longer, steadier one that quickly turns into the beginnings of a heated make out session. I can feel her letting out on me and I want her to. I want to kiss all her worries away and let her know that she can always unload with me. God knows how many times she's done it for me.

It's just that... the way she's kissing me right now makes it hard to want to just make out. And I think she knows it, too.

"We should…" she says, sneaking in a few more kisses before pulling away.

"Go get lunch," I finish.


End file.
